Personifications
by NotThatIWillEverWriteIt
Summary: Personification (noun): 1. the attribution of a personal nature or human characteristics to something non-human, or the representation of an abstract quality in human form. [Suicide attempt, long-term depression, EWE]


The snitch hovered right in front of Harry, just a few feet away. It wasn't trying to race off but trod the air with its delicate see-through wings, steadily swaying up and down. Its jeering whispers echoed in Harry's head.

 _What's the matter, Potter?_

Harry had flown quite high. A quick glance down made even a seasoned flyer like him swallow nervously. The enormous stadium had shrunk into a little blurry green oval.

 _What's the matter, Potter?_

The snitch was so close. Harry tightened his hold on the broom. Adrenalin revved his body. The echo of his heartbeat banged in his ribcage.

 _Catch me if you can._

Suddenly the wings ceased their furious beating, and in one golden flash, the snitch dived. Harry didn't stop to think but acted on instinct and leaned the broom toward the ground. The light ball picked up momentum surprisingly fast, and soon Harry was chasing it at full speed.

The wind pushed him against the broom and brought tears to his eyes, making the snitch into a golden smudge. The air thundered his ears deaf yet he could still hear the snitch's mockery.

 _Catch me if you can! Catch me if you can! Catchmeifyoucan!_

He was gaining it. Slowly while trying to balance the broom he reached his hand and tried to stretch the joints as much as possible. His fingertips brushed the snitch's cold metallic surface.

Almost.

Just as Harry was about to squeeze his fingers around the ball, the broom between his legs started to squirm. Harry let out a startled yelp. Instead of the broom handle, he was gripping a thick leaden snake. The golden snitch was in its mouth. It peeked at him between the ivory fangs, bursting with laughter.

 _What's the mat –_

Harry woke up with a jolting cramp. The mute Premonition, that had been tugging his pajama sleeve for a good while now, startled and retrieved back into the shadows. Disoriented, Harry blinked in the dark bedroom and sucked his sleep filled lungs full of air.

Apart from his deep breathing and blood pressure rushing in his ears, the house was completely silent around him. The clock on the nightstand flashed 2:36. Harry turned to check if Draco had woken but found his side of the bed empty.

The floor froze his bare feet, and blanket warm skin rose to goose-bumps in the cool night air. Harry stepped into the dark corridor. The kitchen door was ajar letting a thin line of light out.

At first glance, everything appeared normal, almost innocent-like. It was as though the dirty dinner dishes in the sink were convincing him that there was nothing to see here. But after the last six months, Harry had learned not to trust their illusion.

"Draco?"

The silence was his only answer. Just as Harry was about to switch off the lights and turn back, something glimmering caught his eye. There was an empty dark vial on the floor.

Draught of Living Death.

Harry's stomach was filled with cold black stones. Some dark, hidden parts of him told him to turn away and pretend he hadn't found anything, but Harry pushed those thoughts away and strode into the kitchen. He found Draco sitting behind the kitchen isle when Harry had missed him from the door. He crouched down and shook Draco's shoulders roughly.

"Draco?!"

No reaction. His head just lulled dully with the shaking. A thread of saliva stretched out of the corner of his mouth.

Short porky Panic appeared opposite to Harry. It pushed its red swollen face close and observed Draco's limp body with its small pig eyes.

 _What's the matter, Potter? Wh-what's the matter?_

"Hey!" Harry raised his voice and slapped Draco's cheek couple times. This seemed to break his slumber a little. Painfully slowly his eyes opened a slither but they failed to focus on anything.

"I – I'm sorry-ry," he slurred.

Harry's knees cracked loudly when he sprang into action. He started going through the kitchen drawers frantically. Panic waddled after him, peeked over his shoulder.

 _What's the m-matter, Potter? Wha-what's the matter?_

It puffed sour breaths against Harry's neck. Reached its chubby hands and shuffled the drawers, muddled everything up.

 _What's the matter?!_

Groaning in frustration Harry pushed Panic aside and started scavenging the drawers more systematically. Finally, he found it. With trembling hands, he opened the Wiggenweld vial and placed it on Draco's lips. Draco pressed his lips shut, and the antidote droplets trickled down his chin. Harry tried again but again and again, Draco turned his head away.

" _Stop it!_ " Harry snapped.

He grabbed Draco's face in a tight pincer hold and tried to force the vial between his lips. Draco swatted his hands away clumsily. The vial almost slipped from his fingers slippery from the medicine and Draco's spit.

Panic was on all fours now and watched closely from Harry to Draco and back again. Beads of sweat were rolling down its temple.

 _What's the matter, what's the matter, Potter?!_

Harry pushed Draco to the floor and straddled him, pinned the resisting hands under his knees. Draco squirmed and moaned incoherently in his grip. Panic was banging its fat fists on the floor, like a boxing referee, and panted his mantra almost on an ecstatic level.

 _what's the matter?! what's the matter?! whatsthematter?!_

Harry managed to pry Draco's mouth open forcibly. The last desperate beads of the antidote dropped in his throat excruciatingly slowly. Draco gagged but Harry covered his mouth his mouth quickly with his hand and forced him to swallow.

Little by little Draco's eyes cleared and he stopped resisting.

"Hey?" Harry whispered.

Draco was trembling under him. His face was dampened by sweat, saliva and the antidote. Long silver strings of hair had stuck to the skin, crisscrossing over his face like a spider's web. The pale cheeks were covered with finger-shaped red marks.

Harry rolled off him and slumped against the kitchen isle. He felt like crying and vomiting.

Panic morphed into Hate. It folded its gaunt bony body to sit on one of the kitchen chairs. There it watched them silently, its head tilted in an observing manner.

 _What's the matter, Potter?_

"One of these times," Harry choked, "one of these times I'll let you die."


End file.
